RedOrange
by Canadino
Summary: Romano and Belgium watch the World Cup finals between Spain and Netherlands. This can't be good.


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

Red-Orange

It is all Spain's doing; his infantile whining this morning of _Boss is gonna play today, Roma, and Boss is going to beat up your old friend Netherlands! Aren'cha gonna come watch? Don'tcha wanna see Boss win? Roma, you're my lucky charm, are you gonna come see? _Romano does not know what gave Spain the idea that he and Netherlands are, or rather _were_, friends, but that is a small point compared to all the cajoling the older nation unleashed on him hours before finally leaving for Soccer City. _Come see, come see, come see_! When the house was finally silent, Romano had taken a deep, relieved breath.

An hour later, he finds himself pushing past eager fans in red as he makes his way to a vacant seat (nations do not have to get tickets, especially if said nation has guns and connections). He does not want to be seen, god forbid someone like Prussia or France sees him and somehow relays he is here to Spain and everyone else in the goddamn stadium. He is not here to root for Spain! He is only here because this is going to be a historic event, no matter who wins.

Shoving his way into the seat, Romano tries to draw the collar of his coat up to his nose but he has already been spotted. Namely, the woman he did not see before next to him suddenly turns to him and smiles.

"Romano! Surprise seeing you here!"

"Belgium," Romano gets out grudgingly. He is not very close to her, despite being in the same house with her in their childhood. He and Netherlands were often assigned to clean up his messes he left behind when Spain was not around to clean them up for him. Still, she is grinning and does not look as if she will use anything to draw attention to them.

"I didn't think you would be here! Oh…but you're not wearing any football gear."

Romano opens his mouth to retort that in her baby blue trench coat and jeans, she is not either, but finds the argument dead in his throat when he sees the bright orange ribbon wrapped tightly around her hair. In comparison, he looks as if he had just stumbled into the stadium by chance with his dark coat, dark slacks, and unsuspecting demeanor. Belgium looks at him for a moment more before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a thick, long stretch of red ribbon, which she wraps around Romano's neck like a scarf.

"What the fuck are you doing…!"

"I had this in my hair at first," Belgium explains cheerfully, knotting it neatly around Romano. "To piss brother off. He got so upset thinking I was rooting for our former Boss. I changed when I got up here. And anyway, you're rooting for Spain, aren'cha?"

Romano grumbles himself a storm but does not take the ribbon off even as the national anthems start.

[=]

At the third missed goal, Romano starts to finally make coherent sense again. "Someone should start scoring," he grouses, as Belgium stands with everyone else good-heartedly.

"This happens at all the matches," Belgium explains, as though Romano doesn't already know that. "The one or two goals made are hard to find."

"Hmph."

"Germany's friend Paul already said Spain would win," Belgium says helpfully, not really helping her cause (unless it was related to soothing Romano so he wouldn't start ranting, then it absolutely related). "So you shouldn't really worry about it."

Romano rolls his eyes. "That doesn't make me like the kraut any more," he says, before hastily adding, "Not that it would, in any way! I don't care at all if Spain wins. In fact, I hope he loses because he's been so annoying these past few days." He scowls at the man in red behind him who 'accidentally' smacks him across the back of the head.

Belgium decides that ignorance is the best route; and anyway, watching her brother shout at the ref is much more exciting.

[=]

"Netherlands shouldn't be orange," Romano remarks as a yellow card is thrust into the air. "He should be yellow."

Belgium doesn't respond, as retorting that Spain has helped the rising yellow card count would be starting an argument, but gives Romano a pointed look when one of Spain's men returns the favor a couple seconds later with a shove.

"I wish they had sticks or something," Romano continues, resting his head against his arm, propped up by the armrest. "All this pushing and kicking is all good fun but it would be better with bloodshed."

"You must be a fan of hockey."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

[=]

While Belgium (and Romano, although he would not admit it) had not wanted to leave her seat during any part of the normal time to get drinks, use the restrooms, et cetera, she decides that after a hundred minutes, it is enough. She announces that she is going to get some food. Romano joins her for lack of anything to do.

When the two return, both with beers in hand, the score is unchanged, even with the noise and shouting. Belgium shakes her head as she sees the score and continues their way down the stairs to their seat, accosted by members of both sides. When they finally get to their row, Belgium pauses in the aisle; two men have taken the seats.

Trying to think of a way to argue her way effectively to get the seats back, Belgium is pushed (gently) aside by Romano, who mutters, "Let me take care of it." He beckons her to follow, which suggests that he is very confident in his power of persuasion. Well, he has been with Spain for a while, Belgium reasons, so maybe Romano has honed his charm – and uses it sparingly, as she has seen less than one percent of his charm (unless it comes from his grumpiness, then well…).

"Excuse me," Romano says to the men, both dressed in orange. They turn to him and look about to say something when he interrupts them. "These seats were already taken by me and this young lady." Belgium smiles and waves. "So please _leave_." The please is half polite, half threat. The _leave_ leaves his lips with the suggestion of a gun being drawn. The men weigh their options but Romano already starts pushing them away. While one raises his hand to make a scene, Romano turns a glare on and Belgium almost hears the _click_ of a gun.

They back down. Belgium squeezes into her seat, quickly apologizing in quiet undertones as Romano's back is turned. The men look nonplussed but do nothing on the account that she is wearing an orange ribbon and is a woman – and an attractive one at that. Belgium only wishes that the people around them do not think that she is in a relationship with someone as moody as Romano. She has her pride to uphold.

[=]

When number six finally scores, Romano whispers _yes_ and does a little fist pump that he hopes no one notices.

Belgium does.

"Congratulations!" she says, clapping him on the back. "Not to be harshing on my brother, but I don't think he can thump his way to tie that."

"Why are you congratulating me for?" Romano asks.

"I guess you're right. Spain should be receiving that. I mean, he's finally going to get some." When Romano stares at her blankly, she waves her hand. "You're happy, right? So…"

"Roma's here!" Spain chirps happily as his players finish their fast victory dance and Netherlands stares daggers at him. While he can hardly hear individual chants over the vuvuzelas and the overall screaming, he thinks he knows Romano's voice well enough to recognize his shriek.

[=]

When the trophy is hoisted into the air, Belgium stands and tugs at Romano's sleeve. "Come on," she says, "I think we can sneak onto the field to find Spain and Netherlands." Ordinarily, he would resist, but in a public setting, he would look arrogant and selfish for refusing a woman. He will get Belgium back someday. He follows her as she sneaks past the security guards.

"Roma! Did you see! Boss's goal! Did you see?" When Spain lays eyes on Romano, he seizes him at once and lifts him up like the Cup. While Romano protests, he makes sure he doesn't hit Spain _too_ hard; he's not going soft at all, it's just Spain has just won and it would be rude of him to be mean…! "Ooh! You're wearing red!" Spain rubs his face against the scarf. "You were cheering for me!"

"It wasn't me, it was Belgium…!" But Spain's getting sparkly-eyed and it was only because they were in the shadows and out of cameras' eyes that he lets Spain kiss him. And anyway, it is a good thing he won, really, because the bastard looks better in red than in navy.

Owari

[=]

Note: Boss wins!


End file.
